


To Let You Go (Not)

by Jamaican Princess (Rocquellan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocquellan/pseuds/Jamaican%20Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s got bigger problems than Dean hitting him or Cas losing his grace...or saving the world from rogue angels, like getting rid of the Mark of Cain so he can get his big brother back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Let You Go (Not)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 9.22, but goes AU before Gadriel shows up. DISCLAIMER:These characters do not belong to me.
> 
> Ps-I'm not happy with how this fic ends, but I'm out of ideas. Any suggestions would be appreciated. Happy reading :)

Sam didn’t know what the hell anymore. Dean had never blown him off so coldly before, no matter what was going on between them and he felt the Mark of Cain branding his own soul with worry for his brother like it branded Dean’s with darkness.

_“Oh, I’m not apologizing, I’m telling you how it’s going to be...”_

Sam sighed while he dropped his bag on the bed. This cold demeanor of Dean’s was seriously freaking him out. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought deeply about what else Dean had spat at him when he tried to confront him about his lying about the blade.

_“So, from here on out I’m calling the shots. Capische?”_

Sam sat on the bed and struggled to remove his shoes. He had to talk to Cas again. Maybe there was some way of helping Dean the angel would remember about. Maybe another angel would know how to reverse the Mark of Cain from his brother. Maybe Cas could find Cain and Sam would force him to take the mark back, to return his brother to him. He didn’t know. He couldn’t just sit here while Dean was slowly consumed by the darkness growing inside him.

_“And until I jam that blade through that douchebag’s heart, we are not a team...”_

It still stung, hearing those words from his big brother; the one who spent the better part of most of his life doing unfathomable things to keep Sam close, to hold on to their team like his life depended on it; because in some way it did.

Or at least, it use to.

_“This is a dictatorship. Now you don’t have to like it, but that’s how it’s going to be...”_

And Dean had walked away, turned his back on him and Sam turned and ran to his room like the coward he’d become. Letting big brother call the shots ever since he realized how useless and worthless he’d become by Dean’s side; how he dragged everyone down, even Dean himself. 

But this was different. Dean was being controlled by something supernatural and Sam still couldn’t fathom properly how he’d become the type of man that would let Dean control his life so completely. Where was the Sam who used to stand up for what he believed in? Family and what was right. Where was the Sam that would smack some sense into Dean before he ever deteriorated this far? Who wouldn’t have allowed Dean to even get the Mark in the first place?

Where was the Sam from ten years ago and the Dean from the same time?

Had so much really changed between them?

Sam forced his tears to stay put as it gathered in his eyes after he fell back on the bed, his arms spread wide like a sacrifice while he looked up at the ceiling. 

What had become of them and where were they going to end up from here on out?

.....

There was a soft creak, barely loud enough but it woke Sam from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. He shot upright and looked at the door while his hand sat on the gun he had tucked under his pillow, only to realize it was his brother, holding a tray with something on it.

“Hey, you hadn’t eaten since yesterday, brought you some grub,” Dean said with an easy curve to his lips. He sat the tray on the bed beside Sam.

Sam looked down at the soup and the bowl of water. Good to know some things hasn’t changed at least. He rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Sam looked up at Dean to see the smile had fallen from his face, replaced with an uncharacteristic frown.

“You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, Sam. I’m not asking you to eat, I’m telling you,” Dean answered tightly, like he was about to snap.

For the sake of avoiding an argument, Sam slowly took the tray and sat it on his lap. It’s not like he wasn’t hungry, not really. Hunger just took a back burner to all the other shit going on right now. He took a spoonful of the broth and realized Dean had made it just the way he liked it, but he was afraid to read too much into the gesture.

Dean stood over him like a dark shadow until he finished every drop, then he took the tray and looked down at him. Sam had to avoid how peircing Dean’s gaze had become.

“Get some sleep. Me an’ Cas are gonna try and do something, be useful, ya know?” Dean chuckled and Sam had to wonder if it was a low jab at him.

Maybe he’s wrong. “I can help...” Sam offered hesitantly.

Dean chuckled, ran a hand over his mouth and then looked at Sam with something close to mirth in his eyes. “You serious? Stay in bed and get some rest, Sammy. I’m sure you need it.”

It was an order and Sam kept his eyes away from Dean while his brother exited his room. As soon as he was sure he was alone, Sam allowed the tears to flow. This is exactly why Dean should have allowed him to die in that church because no matter what Dean had said in that church, he wasn’t able to convince Sam that he was right.

Useless.

......

“So, you still got nothing, Cas?” Dean asked while he took a bite of toast from his plate around the breakfast table the next morning.

Sam, while chewing, looked over at Cas, who was a statuesque decoration at the breakfast table, really, since he doesn’t eat.

“I haven’t been able to make contact with any angel who might know where the hidden stairway to heaven might be,” Castiel answered. Or rather he omitted other things he didn’t want to mention.

“So in other words, you got squat,” Dean huffed with a roll of his eyes. He sat back and said, “Alright, keep seeing what you can get on angel radio. Sam?”

Sam looked up, startled, at his name.

“You’re gonna see what you can dig up in the archives. See if there’s any reference at all to heaven’s back door.”

“Yeah, but...”

Dean had started to stand, and at Sam’s objection Dean shot him a downright venomous look. “Oh right, Sammy’s got something better to do than to help get these angel freaks back where they belong and gank Metatron. Do share with the rest of the class what’s more important than squashing that cockroach and putting things back how they should be right now, Sammy. Do you know how many people die everyday because these angel douchebags roam free?”

Castiel looked over both his shoulders with a frown before looking up at Dean curiously. “Dean, we are not in a classroom.”

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Sam knew there was no right answer. And he knew his big brother didn’t want to hear that saving him was just as important, if not more important, than saving the world; to him anyways. So he said nothing, shoved his plate aside and walked away from the table.

“Dean, I do not think you should dismiss your brother so lightly,” Castiel offered as soon as Sam was out of earshot. Even Castiel knew the Mark would only make Dean worse.

Dean looked down on the angel while he collected the dishes. “So what? I should allow him to do what he feels like, Cas? You and I both know giving Sammy free will is like telling a spoiled child he could do what he feels like. How has that worked out for the rest of humanity and us in the past, huh?”

Castiel sighed, stood and watched Dean’s tense back while he shuffled the dishes to the washer. He could see this getting out of hand, and fast. “That’s not fair, Dean. You put the key in the lock and Sam was manipulated into turning it and opening the door.”

Dean slammed the dishes so hard into the sink one broke, then he turned around and glared at Cas with all the contempt boiling through his veins. He got up into Cas’ face and spat dangerously low. “And it’s _your_ brothers that orchestrated that _without_ my knowledge. Sam drank demon blood and fucked Ruby by choice!”

Castiel knew he was a hair’s breadth away from probably getting punched, but he plowed on none the less, “Yes, and you would have still done it even if you knew, because you couldn’t live without Sam...”

“FUCK OFF, CAS!” Dean screamed before storming off.

Castiel sighed solemnly. He had to talk to Sam, see if they could find a way to get rid of the Mark of Cain after Dean killed Metatron.

...And maybe all of them.

..........

Sam yawned. He sat around a table in one of the archive rooms reading with dozens of files, tomes and books strewn around him. He lost his sense of time while he researched, but he kept pouring over the books looking for info on the door and the mark simultaneously. There was suddenly a knock on the door and Sam knew it was Cas by that action alone. Dean had made it quite clear he did what he wanted when he wanted, which means he doesn’t knock anymore. He closed the book he was reading and shouted, “Come in.”

Castiel entered with a tray housing sandwiches and drinks and Sam’s stomach rumbled at the sight of food. He cleared away the some of the books to make room for the tray that Castiel put before him.

“You’ve been down here hours, Sam, I figured you might be hungry,” Castiel informed.

“Hey, thanks. I am actually,” Sam answered with a smile.

Castiel pulled up a chair from the corner and sat opposite Sam while the taller man ate with gusto. He frowned. “I had assumed Dean would have brought you something to eat earlier, but I realized he was never in the kitchen for long since breakfast so...”

Sam smiled gratefully at Cas. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Castiel nodded his head in acknowledgment. Nobody wanted to voice that it was a job Dean normally took upon himself religiously; to make sure Sam was ok; clothes, fed, clean, unsick.

“So, have you managed to find anything?” Castiel asked, pulling one of the open books to him and looking at the text. It gave basic information about getting into heaven, notwithstanding baptism and religious zealousness.

“No, nothing yet,” Sam answered after swallowing. “I doubt any human scholar ever even knew heaven could be boarded up.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Castiel pointed out, looking at Sam closely. He tapped a closed, unmarked book because he knew exactly what was in it. And he knew Sam knew it too.

Sam dropped his sandwich and leaned back in his chair, an apprehensive look on his face. “No, nothing on that either.”

Castiel nodded.

Sam slowly took up his sandwich, but dropped it again when it was halfway to his lips. “And there’s nothing else you can offer? Nothing at all?”

Castiel ached for the hope and the fear in Sam’s voice. Sometimes the Winchesters expected too much of him. “No, I cannot help in any way with that right now.”

Sam had lost his appetite, Cas could tell.

“Yeah. Well, yeah...” Sam cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. He anticipated things with Dean getting worse before it got better. “Is there a way to summon Cain?”

“It requires human blood sacrifice. _Lots_ of human blood, the equivalent of fifteen people.”

Cas could see Sam shooting that idea down with a resigned sigh. “I’m gonna go have a nap, ok?”

It wasn’t a request, but Castiel answered anyways. “Ok, Sam.”

Sam nodded before he left the archive room and Castiel could see how anguished the younger Winchester was by the tense set of his shoulders and the worried look on his face. But Castiel felt drained as well. He had his own problems to deal with besides Metatron, because right now, the grace inside him was burning out even quicker than before.

..........

“Any news on Metatron or the other angels, Cas?” Dean asked while he tied his shoes. It was the next day and he felt even more irritated at the fact that they still hadn’t gotten any new leads. He knew it wasn’t fair to be asking Cas the same thing every few hours, but he was the only one with any means to find out what the angels were up to right now and Dean didn’t much care about his feelings on the matter.

Cas looked at his friend from his reclined position in one of the couches in the bunker. He felt even more drained than the day before. The angel connection was starting to come across like a bad radio connection, but he didn’t want to inform Dean of that. “No.”

Dean went back to paying attention to his shoes and Sam, who was sitting across the room still researching, wondered what his brother was up to. He watched as Dean looked around him before grabbing a duffel from the floor Sam had barely noticed. 

“Hey, you going somewhere?”

Dean completely ignored him.

Sam sighed in frustration before saying tiredly, “Dean...”

Dean made sure his gun was loaded and he didn’t leave anything behind before he turned and walked towards the door.

“Dean!”

With one foot on the step leading out of the bunker, Dean stopped and glared balefully at Sam. “The hell is it?”

Sam cautiously approached his brother. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Dean answered tightly.

“Are you going on a hunt, do you need backup?”

“No, not from you anyways.”

Sam felt like his stomach was bottoming out. No matter how harsh Dean had ever been before, it was nothing like the cold contempt he was experiencing now and it scared him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Dean whirled on his brother. His temper was flaring and he didn’t give a shit when he spat, “Right now we’re not brothers, you made that pretty clear yourself so stop with the self righteous crap. If you don’t wanna do things my way, you can get the fuck out and go on your own like you always wanted, Sammy.”

Sam was flabbergasted. “I know what I said! I didn’t mean...You can’t kick me out, Dean!”

Dean was now all up in Sam’s face. “You think so? You really wanna find out if I’ll put you out on your ass or not? Really?”

Sam had to step back. It was the look in Dean’s eyes and the flare of his nostrils, like it wasn’t a question but a threat, and the way he kept clenching his fists like he wanted to get into a fight so bad. Just itching for it.

Sam really didn’t want to find out at this point. Things were escalating way too rapidly for his liking and fighting with Dean was the last thing he wanted. “Ok, listen, just let me go with you and...”

Sam had made to touch Dean’s hand, just a placating gesture, but he was utterly shocked and scared when Dean violently slapped his hand away before rounding with a punch straight to his face, knocking him back until he fell on his side.

“Sam!” Castiel cried out and Dean just turned, walked up the stairs and left the bunker and its occupants behind.

Sam groaned on the floor, holding his face that bled profusely and Cas hurried over and knelt down, touching him to see if he could assess the damage to Sam.

Sam flinched at the touch, relaxing only when he could see through watery eyes and pain that it was Castiel.

“Show me,” Castiel invoked worriedly.

Sam slowly removed his bloodied hand. His lip was busted and his jaw bruised and painful.

“You’re lucky he didn’t break anything,” Cas sympathised while he felt along Sam’s jaw. “I can heal it for you.”

“No, no.” Sam quickly rolled from under Cas and shakily got to his feet. “You need all your strength, Cas. This can be easily taken care of, don’t worry,” he talked muffled into his cupped hands.

“Are you...?”

“I’m sure,” Sam answered hurriedly while he backed towards his room.

Castiel watched him go worriedly, then he took a long look around the now empty living area, save for himself, and wondered for the umpteenth time why everything was tumbling down so badly around all of them.

..........

Castiel looked like crap. Sam had every intention to find out how he felt and such but he rarely ever had time to delve into details with the angel. Now that he realized that Castiel was sleeping, it meant things were taking a turn for the worst. But Sam had his laptop in front of him doing research on hunts, and the story about the beheading of seven people in a town in Iowa. He had no doubt it was Dean taking out a vamp’s nest, by himself, with the blade. Sam just felt it in his bones. He was also on edge, wondering if Dean had escaped and was coming back or whether he was rotting somewhere or changed. It’s been two days and nothing.

Castiel stirred awake on the couch. He took a deep breath then asked, “Sam, is Dean back yet?”

“No. He hasn’t checked in or anything.” It wasn’t like old Dean, but it was definitely new Dean’s MO.

Castiel nodded. A moment later he coughed. “My throat is dry.”

Sam looked over at the soon to be ex-angel (again) worriedly. “You’re thirsty?”

Castiel took a moment to assess if that was the case, then he nodded his head.

“Are you hungry too?”

Cas hesitantly answered that he was.

They both knew what that meant.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face before he stood and asked, “Sandwiches?”

“Yes. Thank you, Sam,” Castiel answered. He still couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s bruises. He’d seen Dean hurt Sam before, but never like that. As a matter of fact, Dean physically hurt Sam all the time, it was just different from now. The evidence was still all over Sam’s face; fading black and blue and yellow mottled skin and a congealed and swollen busted lip covered by a small butterfly bandage.

Sam went to the kitchen and Castiel grabbed a cushion, focusing on his own state of being. He hugged it his chest and felt like he wanted to cry. He was becoming human again and he wasn’t sure how to react.

Sam knew there was no quick fix for Cas’ mojo problem, but he wanted the angel to know that he’d be there to support him for as long as humanly possible. They were friends after all. So awkwardly, because Sam wasn’t used to freely caring and sharing anymore, he tried to give moral support. “Um, I don’t know what you thought of being human before, Cas, but I don’t think it would be all that bad...”

Castiel nodded with a smile. “You’re right, Sam, it wasn’t all bad. Drinking liquor around the fireplace with some really nice people; keeping warm on a cold night, finally getting the hang of babysitting and getting praise from your supervisor for a job well done. There are some highlights after all.”

“Uhhhhh, ok,” Sam chuckled. “If that’s what made you happy...”

Castiel was about to say something else, but just then the front door opened and Sam stood, eagerly watching his brother as he walked down the stairs with an unreadable look on his face.

“Dean...” Sam walked to greet his brother but he stopped short halfway there. He didn’t want an outburst like the last time. 

Dean took one look at Sam’s busted lip and sighed. “Whad’I miss, guys?”

“You took out a vamp nest by yourself, are you alright?”

“Peachy, Sammy. Just like a walk in the park,” Dean chortled while he dropped his bag beside his friend. 

Sam felt a pang at the realization Dean seemed more relaxed. He’d go as far and say his brother was happy after killing something. It worried him.

““Hey Cas, you don’t look so hot.”

“Actually, I am hot, Dean.” Castiel grimaced while he loosened the collar of his shirt to prove his point. The trench coat was draped over the couch like a discarded, favorite toy. Castiel kept his eyes on Dean the entire time.

Sam cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Dean shrugged before his face morphed into a wide smile while he rummaged through his duffel. “I’m pretty good, Sammy. Pretty good.”

Sam didn’t miss how Dean avoided looking at him the entire time, like he didn’t want to see the remaining evidence of hitting him. Dean had never had problems looking at the bruises and scars on Sam’s body. In their line of work they got it often enough anyways. No, what Dean had a problem looking at was the bruises he caused, and apparently even the Mark of Cain couldn’t break him out of that. Yet. Hopefully not. Sam needed to know there was still some of his brother left in there somewhere.

“I made something to eat in case you’re hungry,” Sam offered.

“Naaah. Stopped by a diner on my way here, eat and got laid, Sammy,” Dean answered while he pulled a few things from his bag, a cheshire type grin on his face.

Sam watched his brother closely the rest of the day. Dean was cheerful enough to work on the Impala and clean his room. He was still uneasy, but there was nothing he could do for now.

..........

Something pulled Sam from sleep. He couldn’t explain it, but even submerged in the blackness of sleep something tugged at his senses. He slowly woke up. Groaning, he opened his eyes, startled into reaching for his gun when he blearily realized he wasn’t alone, that there was a figure sitting in a chair before him. His eyes adjusted and he squinted before calling out, “Dean?”

Sam shrank back as Dean stood silently, walked over to his bed and sat on the edge. Warily, Sam waited for something to happen. He looked up at Dean while his brother raised a hand and ran a finger over the cut on his bottom lip. The look in Dean’s eyes were soft, even if it was shrouded by the harshness of the mark, while he pulled the small bandage back to reveal his bruise.

“Dean, what are you...?” Sam started to ask while Dean inspected his lip.

“Shhh, Sammy,” Dean answered softly.

Sam quieted while Dean used alcohol and cotton to clean his lip before applying antiseptic cream.

“Thanks,” the younger muttered softly when his brother was through.

“Don’t make me hit you again,” Dean whispered lowly.

Sam did a double take, staring at his brother with wide eyes. Then the incredulousness of what Dean said sank in. “I didn’t _make_ you do anything, Dean.”

Sam was trying to roll away from Dean, but his brother dug his fingers into his shoulders painfully and pushed him back on his back to face him.

“Stop it, Sammy. I told you already this a dictatorship. Besides, why the hell should I listen to anything you say when you flat out tell me you hate me...”

“When did I...?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Dean snarled. He dug his fingers even further into Sam’s arms, ignoring the building wince of pain. “You told me you’d left me to die and all the sacrifices I made for you aren’t worth shit because you wouldn’t do them for me.”

“I never _said_ any of that Dean! Jesus christ!” And at this Sam managed to break his brother’s hold, to roll away and realize that he might just be losing his frigging mind. “You always hear what you want to hear, you know that?”

Dean’s around the bed in the blink of an eye, and Sam took an involuntary step back from the tension radiating off his brother.

Dean got all up in Sam’s personal space, feeling the need to hit him thrumming under his veins, but managed to resist. “Listen to me, you little shit, _you_ fuck up this relationship when you practically implied I’m lower than the dirt beneath your fucking shoes...”

“No...,” 

Dean slapped his brother in the face, revelling in the high of Sam almost slamming into the wall from the blow, cradling his cheek. “Shut the hell up when I’m talking to you. You fuck everything up, Sammy. I’m just trying to clean up your messes, been doing it my whole life. Now this is what we’re gonna do. I say jump, you ask how fucking high or I swear, Sammy, because don’t ask how to jump and I’ll start pushing. You got that?”

Sam nodded. If only because he knew it was pointless to argue with Dean right now. Besides, he couldn’t do what he really wanted to do, which was cure his brother, if he couldn’t get Dean off his back a little bit, no matter how hard it was to give in to the crap his brother was throwing at him, then he wouldn’t stand a chance. True crap, but crap none the less.

Dean seemed satisfied at his non-answer and Sam watched him leave, drawing a shaky breath before washing up and going to sleep off the night’s events.

If he could...

..........

The next day Dean took the blade and left. He came home three days later. They got into an argument that night and Dean slapped Sam around some more. 

It was becoming a habit, one Sam knew he needed to fight but didn’t have the strength or the will to. He wanted to cure Dean of the Mark because that would make all of his problems go away. He needed to attack the root of the problem, not the symptoms. He would have his brother by his side and they’ll be a single unit again, like always.

By the next week, Sam was no closer to finding out how to remove the Mark and Dean had become rough and violent in between his monster/angels killing binge. Sam could see the way Dean’s hands shook like a junky jonesing for a hit sometimes, and he knew it was the reason Dean was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his hands off Sam’s body, no matter how remorseful he was after sometimes.

But there was a silver lining in all this; Dean had never laid his hand on Cas. Cas was sick, and getting sicker with each passing day and he was out of it long enough to stay out of Dean’s increasingly destructive path. And Sam stayed in that path to keep Cas and others out of it. Dean always seemed a little better after he got a few hits in on Sam, especially when they ‘sparred’, which was just a pleasant way to say he wailed on Sam when he was ready.

Two weeks later, while he lifted his shirt in the bathroom and looked at his rib cage, stomach, sides and arms in the mirror, Sam knew he had to do something. The bruises were spread far and wide, there was hardly an inch of clear skin in any one patch. At least Dean tried to stay clear of his face, that was way too obvious. Despite everything Dean didn’t want to stress Cas.

“Sam...”

Sam shoved his shirt down and quickly turned to look at Cas, who was leaning against the door frame looking frail and weak. Sam rushed over and held him up, ignoring the painful pull on his ribs and scowled. “What the hell are you doing, Cas? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Dean cannot keep hurting you like this,” Cas intoned while they walked back to his room, which wasn’t very far from Sam and Dean’s.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m dealing with Dean, Cas. Don’t worry.”

Cas’ face was solemn. “Normally Dean would never hurt you like this...”

“Which is why I need to find a way to remove the Mark of Cain,” Sam answered while he lowered Cas to his bed.

Castiel winced before his head hit the pillow. “Yes, you’re right, Sam. Crowley made him get it in the first place, maybe he’ll know how to remove it.”

Sam facepalmed. Why the hell didn’t he think to summon that cockroach? “You’re a genius, Cas!”

Castiel smiled. He was always happy to be of help. Then he was out almost as quickly.

.......... 

“Moose.”

Sam sneered. They were in the demon holding room and Sam had summoned Crowley while Dean was out. He was satisfied that Crowley appeared right into the devil’s trap printed on the floor. “How do I remove the Mark?”

“Straight to business, eh?” Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands in his coat pocket while looking around the room idly. “I see the decor hasn’t changed much, except for the glaringly colorful canvas of pain you yourself has become.”

Sam wouldn’t rise to the bait. “The mark. Off. Now!”

“Or what?!” Crowley spat.

Sam smiled cruelly. He lit a match, held it over a bowl to the side with some ingredients in it before looking back at Crowley. “Or I use Kevin’s demon banishing spell to send you to oblivion.”

Crowley paused, considered his options and then shrugged noncommittally. “You can’t just _remove_ the mark, Moose. Squirrel has to give it up. You know, find somebody else capable of the mark and all that.”

Sam sighed, outing the match. It was true. At some point Dean had mentioned he could only get the mark from Cain because he was worthy, there was no other way. “There must be something, ok? Some clause, something that would give me back my brother, ok?”

“Or do you just want him to stop hitting you? You know he’s the best hope of getting rid of that winged fluffer nutter, as it stands...” 

Sam sighed. He knew that. He just wanted to ensure when all this was over he could get his Dean back as soon as possible. No time for him to sink further into his inner demons once they ganked Metatron.

“Forget about him hitting me, find something, or I swear you’ll be ashes the next time I summon you here,” Sam threatened.

Crowley smirked while mock saluting before he disappeared, after Sam made sure he could leave.

..........

The next night, Dean almost sliced Gadriel in half after he entered the bunker looking for redemption...


End file.
